#coppercatbird

@drarrymicrofic | prompt: bond | wc: 500 | rating: mild m

“Good news first, or bad?” Ron asked.

“Good,” Harry blurted, just as Malfoy said, “Bad, obviously.”

They glared, then turned away, hands clasped.

“Good news: it’s time-limited. The curse is for newlyweds to get to know one another. It’s not permanent. You’ll just have to wait it out.”

Malfoy sighed. “The bad news?”

Ron cleared his throat; he sounded amused, which Harry thought was a little rude. “We can’t break it, unless one of you fancies giving up your magic.” They both blanched. “The bond’s tied to your magical cores. If it were a permanent bond, maybe we’d try, but the risk of magical core damage—”

“How long, Weasley?”

Silence. Ron coughed; Harry could hear his attempt to restrain his laughter, the tosser. “One year.”

Malfoy gaped. “You expect me to hold hands with this cretin for a year?”

In the corner, Bill cleared his throat. “There are ways to … create distance.”

Harry saw Malfoy’s expression and somehow, he knew.

“I’m not shagging Malfoy!” Harry all but shouted. “I’ll hold his bloody hand for the rest of my life before that!” His face was hot. He didn’t like Ron and Bill’s dubious expressions.

Malfoy sighed. “I cannot believe I hired you as a curse-breaker and you cursed me.”

“I can’t believe your family has a dodgy sex-curse artefact!”

“Really? It seems rather in character to me, which is why I hired professional fucking curse-breakers!” Malfoy sighed. “l’ll pack a trunk.”

Harry frowned. “You’re … coming to Grimmauld?”

“Did you wish to move into the manor for a year?”

“Godric’s gonads, no.”

“I assumed. Come on.”

Harry ignored Bill’s knowing glance and Ron’s barely disguised leer as they left St Mungo’s. It only took Draco ten minutes to pack, despite having one hand clasped in Harry’s. Another few minutes to figure out how to Floo together and they stood in the drawing room of Grimmauld Place.

“I’ll show you to the guest—fuck.”

“Yes, I won’t be needing a guest room,” Malfoy said, tone dry. “Please tell me you have tea?”

Harry nodded. “Even some posh stuff.”

Harry didn’t mention that he’d seen what brand of tea Malfoy preferred in the manor kitchen and bought it, daydreaming about how impressed Malfoy might be if Harry were ever brave enough to invite him over. 

Malfoy didn’t look impressed. He sighed, running his wand hand through his hair.

“I’d like to try something.”

Harry waited.

A pause; a breath. A tug of their joined hands and they were chest-to-chest, Malfoy’s hand in his hair.

“This is just pragmatic,” Malfoy said. “I’d rather like privacy in the loo.”

“Right,” Harry breathed. “Pragmatic.”

“Making tea will be easier. Dinner, too.”

“Yes. That makes sense.”

“We’ll just … determine the boundaries of the curse. Experiment.”

“I like experimentation,” Harry said.

—

Draco looked up from between Harry’s thighs. “Curse ends tomorrow,” he murmured. “Am I moving back into the manor?”

Scene from chapter 5 of @coppercatbird’s One Tall Ginger Nightmare

(in which Draco loses a game, has to grow a beard, it comes in ginger, and Harry is a gay mess for it)

A little excerpt:

@drarrymicrofic | prompt: retrograde | wc: 250

Harry gave an officious little nod and stood. “It’s decided then.”

Ron frowned. “We weren’t talking about anything, mate.”

“I’m going to do it.” Harry nodded again.

“Do what?” Hermione looked up from her book—honestly, who brought a book to pub night?

“I’m going to go talk to Malfoy. Draco.”

Ron spat out his beer. Hermione’s eyebrows shot up. “Are you sure that’s a good idea? Last time—”

“Last time was different,” Harry said. “I’m trying again. I don’t care if I’m bollocks at it.”

“It’s healthy to do things you’re not very good at sometimes,” Luna said as Ginny slid into the booth. “What are you trying?”

“He’s going to talk to Malfoy,” Ron said.

Luna frowned. “Oh, Harry, I don’t think that’s a good idea.”

“But you just said!”

“Well, you see, Mercury’s in retrograde right now, which makes communication difficult,” Luna said, eyes wide. “Disagreements are more likely, misunderstandings—well, you and Draco are already rather prone to those, aren’t you.”

“I don’t care how retro Mercury is,” Harry snapped, tossing back his pint. “I’m going to talk to him.”

**Three minutes later**

“Well,” Hermione said.

“That’s certainly not what I would call ‘talking’,” Ginny said with a grin.

Ron looked ill. “I can’t believe this is happening again,” he said, turning away from the sight of Harry’s hands trailing lower down Draco’s body. Draco’s hands were in Harry’s hair, unyielding, insistent.

@drarrymicrofic | prompt: ex | wc: 400

Harry took a breath and slid into the booth.

“So, when’s the party?”

Draco raised an eyebrow over his wine. “What on earth are you talking about?”

“The party. You finally dumped Justin: congratulations, by the way. When’s the party?”

Draco’s lip twitched. “Do you think I am so unseemly as to throw a party to celebrate dumping someone? Granted, it’s not a bad idea, but it’s terribly uncouth.”

Harry frowned. “You’re not inviting me?”

Draco gave him a considering look. “You want to have a party to celebrate me breaking up with Justin?”

Harry thought the party he wanted was a little different than whatever stuffy fête Draco had planned. “Er, yeah? Am I really not invited?”

There was a long pause. “All right. Party at my place. After the pub.”

Harry beamed. “Good. Great. That’s great.”

Draco rolled his eyes and turned back to Hermione to start talking about some legal nonsense again. The two of them becoming barristers was weird enough before they’d become partners. Harry stopped listening, heart racing.

***

The door swung open moments after Harry’s knock.

Draco’s tie was gone, his shirt unbuttoned at the throat; sleeves rolled, hair artfully mussed. 

“Come in,” he said quietly.

Harry stepped in, toeing off his shoes, then frowned at the quiet. “Where is everybody?”

“Whom else did you expect?”

“I don’t know, Hermione?”

Draco blanched. “I beg your pardon?”

“Well, you were telling her about the party! I assumed she’d be here.”

Draco frowned. “Wait—you really thought I was having a party?”

“Yes?” Harry was suddenly very confused. Judging by his face, so was Draco. “You were talking to Hermione about Justin, and then you started talking about an ‘ex party,’ and—”

Draco burst into laughter. Harry watched, bewildered, as he slumped against the wall, cackling.

“What the fuck, Draco, I—”

“You idiot,” Draco gasped. “We were talking about an ex parte case.”

“I don’t know what that means.”

“Of course you don’t, because you never pay attention when I lecture you about the legal system. Which I suppose is fine, since you can get away with anything.”

Harry’s cheeks warmed. “So, no ex party.”

“I told you, that’s terribly uncouth.”

“Then … why am I here?”

Draco stepped forwards. His breath was on Harry’s cheek. His hand on his neck.

@drarrymicrofic | prompt: history | wc: 300

“You have got to be insane,” Ron said. “I can’t believe you’d even consider it. I mean think about it. You two’ve got hist—”

“I don’t care.”

—

“Are you sure that’s wise, Harry?”

“Not much for wisdom, but it’s what I want. I deserve what I want.”

Hermione smiled. “You do. Ron’ll come around. And Draco’s not so bad. Did I tell you he got me an annotated copy of Hogwarts: A—”

“Oh for Merlin’s sake, you’ve told me at least a dozen times.”

—

“Molly said it’s okay—I wanted to make sure.”

“It’s not that we don’t trust your judgement,” Arthur said, looking down through the microscope Harry had brought him. “If you say he’s good, I trust you.”

Harry sighed, frustrated. “What’s the problem then?”

Arthur didn’t look up. “The Malfoy family’s always been tight knit. I’m sorry, I know it’s not fair, but his father and I have hi—”

“He sees Lucius once a fortnight at tea. It’s complicated—but Draco’s not his father.”

Arthur finally looked up. “All right. Invite him to Sunday dinner. We’ll all be welcoming.”

—

“You want me to what?”

Harry forced himself to relax, not to pull Draco back into bed. He wanted Draco to choose. “I want you to come to the Burrow on Sunday. As my date.”

Draco perched on the edge of the mattress, naked, shoulders slumped. When he spoke, his voice was tentative.

“I thought this was just sex.”

“I did too, at first. But it’s not. It’s more—I want more.”

Harry watched and waited. He watched Draco consider leaving. He watched Draco pause, then turn back.

“This will all fall apart.”

“Maybe.”

“When it does, it’ll break me.”

“So let’s make sure it doesn’t.”

Fingers brushed; eyes met. 

Draco smiled. “Okay. Let’s make—”

@drarrymicrofic | prompt: charm | wc: 200

“Good evening—my, that jumper fits you marvellously.”

“I—what?”

“Sorry, have to dash.”

~

“Er, what’s this?”

“Pastry and a coffee. You look a little peckish.”

“Erm. Thanks?”

“Any time, darling.”

~

“Excellent game. Well played.”

“Oh, calm down, I—wait, what?”

“A well deserved win. Good game.”

“Oooookay. Thank you.”

~

Draco took a breath. This was it.

“Hold the lift, please!” Draco slipped through the closing doors, beaming. “Good morning! I have a gift for you.”

“What the fuck is wrong with you?” Harry snarled. “Were you cursed?”

Draco’s smile faltered. This wasn’t going as planned. “No.”

“Why are you being so nice?”

“You noticed!”

“Of course I noticed. You’ve been … complimenting me. Why?”

“That’s how people are supposed to treat people they like, evidently,” Draco snapped, good mood evaporated.

Harry’s head snapped up. “Like. Like … like-like?”

Draco sneered. “What on earth do I see in you? Yes, like-like. Fancy. Daydream about all day and get chastised at work. Wish to sno—”

Harry pounced. Not the plan Draco had formulated, but all right. 

“I like you mean,” Harry said into Draco’s mouth.

“O-okay. But … you like me?”

“Obviously.”

@drarrymicrofic | prompt: book | wc: 200

“Fancy seeing you here—I didn’t know you could read. Are you fetching things for Hermione now?”

“Ha bloody ha. Just sign it?”

Draco sat back, looking Harry up and down as the queue behind him murmured. Harry did, after all, feature prominently in Draco’s bestselling memoir. They’d been arguing about it for months.

Draco tapped his lip with his quill.

“I thought you didn’t like me writing a book.”

“Couldn’t possibly turn down the chance for an autograph.” Harry flipped the book over and they both admired Draco’s stunning black and white author photo. “And it’s good.”

Draco’s brows raised. “I knew I’d wear you down. Does that mean you actually read it?”

“I did. It’s … fuck, it’s exceptional. I’m … I’m proud of you.” He looked uncomfortable; the crowd murmured more.

Draco swallowed, willing himself not to do anything so embarrassing as weep in public. “I would have understood if you didn’t. But thank you.”

“I was wondering.” Harry frowned, then nodded. “Can I take you out to dinner?”

Draco beamed. “I’d like that.”

He dropped his quill to the dedication page, underlined the dedication twice, and wrote, in his beautiful script:

@drarrymicrofic | prompt: letter | wc: 250 with strikethrough, 100 without

Ferret Malfoy—

Can’t believe I’m writing you a letter but mum’s making me. Harry’s driving me bloody mad. Hermione said you two talked and you’re all right. I’m trying to be the bigger man for some bloody reason. the past’s the past.

I’m not sorry for punching you in the face the last time I saw you.

How’s the nose? You got to keep all your money so I suppose a private healer was no problem.

I’ll start over if you will.

Harry is insane and won’t stop talking about how hot you are, honestly I support his gay awakening but did it have to be you who woke him up? Yuck.

Mum’s inviting you to the Burrow so we can make you think we’ve put things in your food, you can make us feel bad about not being rich toffs, your sour expression will put us off our meals, Harry can drool on you, we can start fresh. She says breaking bread’s the best way. I promise she (probably) won’t kill you like she did your aunt. She specifically told me to say you’ll be safe and welcome.

Sunday, noon. Write back if you’ll join. I hope you’re too cowardly to come, like always.

—Weasley

***

Dearest Weasel,

You do remember we learnt a spell in third year that lets me see everything you scratched out?

I’ll reply to your mother separately, but I’ll be there—if only to see if you’re telling the truth about the drool.

Sincerely,